Justice
by Xelias
Summary: Pyramid Head has cornered James, who must be punished for his sins at last...


Justice  


  
  
Desolate. That was how James felt right now, as he grasped for his footing on the brittle-seeming ladder. What he assumed to be miles underground, this strange labyrinth continued on, a distressing, jumbled maze that seemed to create a more confusing path for him the farther in he ventured.   
  
What prison led to such a place? Not only that, what historical society led to a prison? But it was too late to turn back now. In any case, he had no desire to return to the penitentiary whatsoever; he had slipped into the dilapidated, rusted-through and foul-  
smelling men's room to relieve himself and was damn near castrated by the straitjacketed monster that simply _could not wait_ until he was done to scuttle in and attempt to murder him.   
  
No… he'd had enough of that for one day. A moment later, he was broken from his disconcerted reverie by the sound of static screeching from his radio. It wasn't usually this loud at all, and it bothered him. Something was coming for him. Something big.  
  
Frantically searching for a place to run or hide or evade the creature in any way possible and finding none, he drew his plank and prepared to fend for his life.  
  
Of course. It was _him_. It was _always_ him. That terrible creature that had killed Maria and wanted him next… and it looked like he would get him. He was, for once, oddly without his gigantic knife, but he still towered above James, looking as though he could easily tear him limb from limb as an alternative. Neither plank nor bullet could possibly stop Pyramid Head from catching him here. If only he could get to the ladder…  
  
Unfortunately, James greatly misjudged Pyramid Head's speed without his hulking weapon. The strange, silent being made a lurching swipe for him, but only caught the collar of James's jacket. However, it was more than enough to jostle the man to the floor. He sprawled there numbly, feebly raising his plank, and waited for death.  
  
Much to his surprise, he was swiftly hauled up by the wrist, nearly to his feet, and roughly slung over the creature's knee. Before his mind could quite register what was   
going on and why he wasn't dead yet, he was shocked yet again by the audible ripping of cloth and a definite breeze above him. Then… a voice, but somehow not spoken; it was as if he heard it inside his own head:  
  
_'For your sins… Receive your punishment.'_  
  
A loud crack disrupted the hiss of static, jarring it into silence. James didn't hear any of it— only his own gasp as something rough and hard came down, unforgiving, on his backside. He dared to look up.  
  
Pyramid Head had in his hand James's very own wooden plank, and he struck with little mercy once more, the sharp blow stinging his skin and causing him to hiss and return to his prone position, staring at the floor. What the hell was this…?  
  
Another slap. And another. And another. Pyramid Head's vice-like grip over the middle of his back barred all escape, which left him uncomfortably pinned between his knee and his arm, knocked breathless by the vicious strikes. Then, a sudden cry broke free of James's throat upon being pushed with the blows, tight against Pyramid Head's covered thigh, and realizing his body had begun to respond to the harsh treatment. How could he do this to himself? It was just _too_ humiliating…  
  
How to cover himself? Or anything less, if only to avoid the feeling of his tender flesh against that godforsaken bloodstained apron, which in spite of its staggering lack of aesthetic appeal, did little to diminish the bittersweet sensations sparking through his   
lower body. He was starting to feel a little sick amidst the stinging smacks still bombarding his rear as his hand groped out to clutch hard to the leg of his subjugator.   
Deep inside, he winced. Was he losing control so easily…?  
  
For a moment, James thought that perhaps the plank had broken. Or maybe Pyramid Head had dropped it? It seemed unlikely, but he was sore to the point of not wanting to move by now and the fear of what he might see were he to turn around kept him still. All he knew was that the next thing to come down on his ass was not rough wood, but rather a… hand?!  
  
It stilled its harsh ministrations for a long moment, groping, searching. It unnerved James to no end. How human it felt, if he closed his eyes, shut out all sensory input save for the creature's touch. That gloved hand, warm over his reddened, faintly throbbing backside, could have almost been considered soothing, were it not for the   
underlying iron in Pyramid Head's grip, daring him to attempt escape and draw out the   
punishment he so deserved. Was he toying with him? Or was it some sick offering of   
pleasure before the end? A physical last meal, so to speak.  
  
And James— god help him, he _wanted_ that feeling, that vicarious, short-lived _satiation_ in a way that almost made him weep to consider. He had begun craving it after Mary, and he had craved it from Maria just as much as he did right now. But this time, he would be the one to die.   
  
…Then it all vanished, lost in the sudden sensation of something warm and tapered resting on his abused flesh, and scaring him more than just a little and dear god _what was it_ that was slowly pressing—  
  
Silence, then, in the hallway, for a nondescript length of time, save for the faint rustle of clothing that Pyramid Head deemed burdensome to complete his task and James's ragged, terrified breaths. Then his captor rose, letting him fall with a yelp as his badly mistreated body hit the floor with a thud, and shuffled away.  
  
And there James lay for the longest time— humiliated, hurting, half-naked and still vilely aroused. Finally he straightened, and dared to look back at the damage Pyramid Head had wreaked. He saw it all too well, even from his current perspective:  
  
**Pyramid Head ownz j00**  
  
There it was. Black ink on red skin.  
  
And a little triangle insignia.  
  
James just sighed and collected his plank. Even after all he'd been through, it still made him feel better to have it by his side. So what was he to do now? He was sore, in desperate need of new pants, and, most notably, his current physical state rendered him incapable of most things.  
  
With a shrug, he leaned against the wall and attempted to relax. First things   
first…  
  
  
~fin  
  
  



End file.
